This one isn’t English, actually, this rose is from France. Many of my roses are French. People don’t think that. People think this garden is classically English, but it isn’t really, not the plants at least. Or perhaps it is, she might have gone on, it was, classically English, just because of that, because the plants came from everywhere, because the mild English climate was so tolerant of plants from other parts of the world whose climates were more extreme, even here in Norfolk, in the east, where it could be so much colder in the winter than in the west, and because the English were tolerant of the way they grew, unlike the French who might have grown all of the same plants but made their gardens so much more formal. But she didn’t say any of that. She let her words fade. Perhaps it is, she just said, classically English, looking at the tangle of plants, and left it there. The girl was tired after her flight. One could see that. Tact then, not rudeness, to walk on a little in silence.